Testing
by theartistformerlyknownas
Summary: This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. He hadn't expected it to take so long, or that he'd be stuck here with the most unsympathetic person ever born. Cartman/Kenny, Oneshot.


**Author's Note: I am of the opinion that there needs to be more Cartman/Kenny in this world. Their relationship (romantic or not) cracks me up, and I hope I got the right balance in here. Also, reviews are love. I really like this piece, and I'd love to know what ya'll think of it. If I get a positive response, perhaps there'll be more of this pairing.**

**XXX**

The needle buzzed and hummed, shrieking as it dragged over his ribs. He craned his head back uneasily, flinching at the long black lines tracing across the skin. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. You'd think dying all the time would at least help numb everyday pain, but damn if he wasn't starting to get lightheaded. Jesus. He hadn't expected it to take so long, or that he was going to be stuck here with the most fucking unsympathetic person ever born.

"Barely halfway done and you're already crying like a pussy. God..."

Kenny dropped his head back onto the plastic-covered bed with a moan. "Would it kill you to be a little supportive? I'm in serious pain here, dude."

"Supportive? I'm not your boyfriend, fag." Cartman grinned and nudged Kenny's limp arm with his elbow. The other boy flinched at the contact.

"Kenny, could you try and stay still, please?" The agony vanished for a moment as the tattoo artist lifted her needle and cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry." He shot Cartman a glare. Dick.

His friend gave him a sickly-sweet smile. "Yeah, Kenny, you don't want to make her job difficult, do you?"

It took everything in him not to squirm out from under the needle and strangle that fat fuck. For Chrissake, why he decided _Cartman_ would be the best person to bring along for this little experiment? Stan or Kyle would have been happy to come. Of course, Stan would probably have thrown up about nine times at this point (that kid had the weakest stomach Kenny had ever seen), and Kyle would have been clinging to his arm, asking if he _really_ wanted to do this. Neither of them would just have sat there, one foot propped up on a bent knee, watching with a little too much interest each time Kenny cringed.

He had no idea why that was preferable.

Maybe it was because Cartman had been able to wheedle the owner into charging half-price. Maybe his total apathy was kind of soothing. Or maybe because he was the only other person interested in the outcome.

See, Kenny had a theory. Whenever he Came Back, everything was fixed. It didn't matter if he'd had his head chopped off, lost a foot, misplaced his scalp, whatever. He always woke up a hundred percent intact. So it stood to reason that even something like a tattoo would go too. Cartman (surprise, surprise) had had no problem telling him that this was an ass-backward waste of money, and that he'd be happy to cut off an ear if that's what he was after.

The needle jerked down again, crossing the "T" on Kenny's rib, and this time it fucking _hurt_. He whimpered and dug his fingers into Cartman's arm.

The other boy raised an eyebrow, but he didn't pull away.

**

* * *

**

Two hours later, Kenny took aim at a pebble with the toe of his battered sneaker, and sent it flying down the deserted sidewalk. He moved gingerly, trying to keep the gauze taped to his side from chafing the tender skin. A glowing cigarette dangling from his chapped lips did little to take his mind off the pain.

"Totally not worth it, Kenny." Cartman snatched the cigarette out of his friend's mouth and took a long drag. "Some fucktard tattoo that'll be gone by tomorrow morning?" He shook his head. "You just shot a hundred and fifty bucks to shit."

"I'm not really expecting to die tonight, fatass," Kenny said mildly, watching the smoke curl upwards. "And that's the only way this bad boy is goin' anywhere."

Cartman shrugged and handed the cigarette back. "Whatever, man. All I know is if I hadn't been there it would've been _two_ fifty, and your poor ass would have been out a year's worth of food."

Kenny smirked. This was about as close to considerate as the bastard was ever going to get. And he was okay with that. If Cartman didn't care, he didn't open his mouth. It was kind of nice to know you were worth the insult.

He stopped for a second, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out with his shoe. The ash left a dark smear on the concrete. Cartman stood several feet ahead, hands in the pockets of his down jacket, waiting for Kenny to catch up. Snowflakes began to settle in the other boy's hair as he scuffed out a final spark and wrapped his arms around himself. It was freezing all of a sudden, and his ribs were burning.

"Ay! Hurry up, you skinny piece of shit! It's too fucking cold to just stand around."

Kenny stared at the black mark on the sidewalk for a long moment, then at his friend. He closed the space between them in five quick steps, wrapped a long, lazy arm around Cartman's neck, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

The tattoo may not have been worth it, but Cartman's reaction definitely was. A shocked sort of stillness, then tongue and a punch in the stomach. The blow sent Kenny reeling back off the curb into the street; he barely made eye contact with a flushed and panting Cartman before he was flattened by a Doritos truck.

The world went red and dim around him, and he felt a wet sort of pressure in his chest. Probably a punctured lung. Damn.

**

* * *

**

The ringing sounded hollow and far away at the other end of the line. Kenny wrapped his wrist in the phone cord, rested a hand on the cracked bathroom mirror and waited.

Two rings.

Three.

Come on...

"Mmmph?"

"Cartman! Jesus, dude. I thought you weren't gonna pick up. Listen, we've got a problem."

"Ngk."

"No, seriously." There was a long silence, and Kenny pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Are you even listening to me?"

"'S four in the morning."

"So that's a no?"

"Look, Welfare, after that little fag-fest last night, you're lucky I'm _talking _to you."

It never took Cartman long to wake up. Even when they were kids, Kenny could always count on him in the morning. Sure, he might go back to bed nine more times during the day, but at least Kenny had never had to watch cartoons alone during sleepovers.

"I didn't hear any complaints at the time," he laughed, making a face in the mirror.

"Fuck you!"

"Later." Rolling his eyes at no one in particular, Kenny sighed and held the phone away from his body until Cartman's outraged swearing subsided. "Finished?"

"Why aren't you still in Hell?" came the grudging reply.

"Dunno. Fast turnaround rate this time of year, I guess. But look, we've got a bigger issues than that."

"'We?'"

"Yes, 'we', you fat fuck! You're the one who told me to go through with this! You said it'd come right off!" Kenny pulled up his wifebeater and grimaced. The words **TESTING...ONE...TWO...THREE...** were still splashed across his left side in black ink.

A howl of laughter exploded from the earpiece. "Oh my God, are you fucking kidding me? Yes! _Yes!_ You're the only person dumb enough to fall for this, Kenny! That thing's gonna be on you for the rest of your life!"

No shit.

"This is the end of the line, Cartman. I'm gonna kill you. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I'm gonna fucking get Kyle in on this and I swear to God, we're gonna end your short, miserable existence!"

"Sure you will, Poor Boy, sure you will. And speaking of fast turnaround rates, this is kind of a one-eighty from sucking face with me, huh?" More laughter.

Kenny snarled and slammed the phone back into its cradle. Idiot. He was such a fucking idiot. That was the last time he'd listen to Cartman.

Maybe not the last time he'd kiss him, though.

**XXX**

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